


Writer's Block

by saintjoy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintjoy/pseuds/saintjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Karkat Vantas is a romance author, and John Egbert is his inspiration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writer's Block

 —ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 3:04—

 

EB: dude! why are you still awake at like 3 am? 

CG: I COULD ASK THE SAME GODDAMN QUESTION TO YOU.

EB: i just woke up and saw the downstairs lights on.

EB: and i didn't feel like getting out of bed, so i just flipped open my phone and started messaging you…?

CG: WOW. I AM SO FUCKING HONORED THAT YOU WOULD GO OUT OF YOUR WAY TO GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR BOYFRIEND BY TAKING SUCH EXTREME MEASURES FOR HIM. OH, HOW THE MANY MOUNTAINS YOU HAVE CLIMBED MEAN SO MUCH, AND YET YOUR BOYFRIEND FAILS SPECTACULARLY TO NOTICE AS HE IS TOO FUCKING BUSY.

EB: what could you be busy with??

CG: NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS, ASSLICK.

EB: uh, it's *always* my business.

EB: i'm hoping that "busy" doesn't mean you're watching john cusack on repeat.

CG: I'M NOT, THOUGH THAT SOUNDS LIKE A GOOD IDEA RIGHT ABOUT NOW.

EB: ugggggghghhhghghhh i do not want to fall asleep listening to his dorky voice over and over again!

CG: THEN GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE AND WATCH WITH ME, YOU UNCULTURED DIPSHIT.

EB: ew, no!

EB: i'd rather stay up here in our cozy bed than watch stupid movies, thank you.

CG: CON AIR. IS ALL I HAVE TO FUCKING SAY.

EB: shut up!

EB: i'm past that ignorant phase of my life and you know it.

CG: AT LEAST YOU ADMIT IT WAS PRETTY FUCKING STUPID.

CG: THAT MOVIE DOESN'T EVEN DESERVE TO BE CALLED SHIT BECAUSE SHIT WOULD BE TOO OFFENDED BY BEING COMPARED TO IT.

CG: NOW IF ONLY YOU WOULD LIGHTEN UP A BIT AND WATCH SOME FUCKING JOHN CUSACK, MAYBE WE COULD FINALLY REACH ANOTHER BREAKTHROUGH.

EB: noooo!!!

EB: come up to bed, i miss your romance geek self curled up next to me.

CG: NO.

CG: IN CASE THIS DIDN'T MAKE IT ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE FIRST TIME, I WILL REPEAT MYSELF.

CG: I'M FUCKING BUSY.

CG: GOOD NIGHT.

EB: what could you be busy with!!

CG: ARE WE GOING TO HAVE TO REPEAT THIS ENTIRE DICKSUCKING CONVERSATION AGAIN??

CG: IT. IS. **NOTHING**.

EB: ... 

CG: WHAT.

EB: it's your writing again, isn't it.

CG: NO.

CG: WHERE THE FUCK WOULD YOU GET THAT IDEA.

CG: IT'S NOT LIKE I'M AN AUTHOR FOR A FUCKING LIVING OR ANYTHING.

CG: AND I COULDN'T POSSIBLY BE STAYING UP ALL NIGHT FINISHING THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE THE DEADLINE IS SET TO 8-FUCKING-AM TOMORROW. OR TODAY, RATHER, SINCE IF IT WAS TOMORROW I WOULDN'T BE REPEATEDLY JABBING MYSELF IN THE EYES WITH MY CALLOUSED FINGERTIPS IN FRUSTRATION. IF I WAS HYPOTHETICALLY WRITING IN THE FIRST PLACE.

CG: WHICH I'M NOT.

CG: GET IT STRAIGHT, FUCKTARD.

EB: okay, wow.

EB: major plot point or something?

CG: FUCK OFF, SHITSTAIN.

 

—carcinoGeneticist [CG] blocked ectoBiologist [EB]—

—carcinoGeneticist [CG] unblocked ectoBiologist [EB]—

 

EB: dude, you can't block me. i have your password.

CG: I SURE AS WELL CAN TRY.

 

—carcinoGeneticist [CG] blocked ectoBiologist [EB] again—

—carcinoGeneticist [CG] unblocked ectoBiologist [EB] again—

—ectoBiologist [EB] sent file hahayoulose.txt—

—carcinoGeneticist [CG] sent file FUCKOFFSERIOUSLY.gif—

 

EB: karkat, just tell me what's up.

CG: I JUST

CG: LEAVE ME ALONE.

 

—carcinoGeneticist [CG] logged off—

 

Karkat slumped back in his cushy office chair (courtesy of John) and ran his hands through his hair. The bags under his eyes were dark and heavy, illuminated in the light of his computer. His hands ached when he tried stretching them out in front of him. He closed the chatlog window and looked at the digital document behind it with a tired and frustrated glare. Once, he raised his hands to the keyboard, but he immediately let them flop back into his lap. Again he tried, but failed the same. Karkat ground his teeth, and slammed his fists down on the table in a burst of infuriation.

"God fucking  _DAMMIT!_ " he shouted as he clutched his head tightly. "Fucking shitty  _fuck._  Fucking douchebagging shitbarfing dicklicking FUCK!" His forehead hit the corner of the desk, but Karkat disregarded the pain entirely. He wished he didn't, since it would've been a nice distraction from the  _thing_  in front of him. His story,  _his_  story,  _his_  creation,  _his_  contribution to the romance genre. And he was absolutely sucking at it. Karkat kicked his legs at the desk and sent himself in his rolling chair reeling backwards, almost crashing into the bookshelf behind him. He couldn't even look at it. It was disgusting and horrible.  _He_  was disgusting and horrible. A warm and prickly sensation ran into Karkat's eyes, making him scowl and rub them raw. "Fucking tear ducts, stop leaking your satanical salt fluids all over my face. This is exactly  _not_  the time, nor the place."

 

Suddenly, he heard the soft footsteps of socked feet come down the stairs, and he inwardly groaned. John was not going to help. At all. Karkat rolled his chair back to the desk and made it appear that he was hard at work, when in reality he was simply key-mashing on a new document. John leaned in the doorway lazily, clothed in a dark blue t-shirt and a pair of loose pajama pants. "Hey, you," he greeted with a sleepy smile. "I knew that you were writing."

"John, didn't I tell you to kindly fuck off? Or do I need to use more wildly insulting and overly dramatic words for it to get through to you?" Karkat replied.

"It's always been your specialty." John waltzed across the wooden floor and stopped behind Karkat's chair. He tried to look over his shoulder, but Karkat's arm promptly shoved him away. He did, however, get a good enough glance to see the gist of what his lover was doing. "You liar, you're not writing! It's just random key mashes." Karkat growled and quickly closed the window, revealing his untouched draft. "There you go. What's the matter with that?"

"Nothing that pertains to you, nor does involve your presence," Karkat grumbled. "So get the fuck out." John chuckled airily as he leaned over the back of the other man's chair and slung his arms over his chest in a warm hug. Karkat snorted in disapproval, but made no moves to remove John's arms. He raised his hands to the keyboard once more and tried to force himself to write. The trial failed miserably: so miserably that even John noticed Karkat's distress.

"Karkat?" he asked. Karkat shook his head and set his hands on the keyboard. He stared at the screen, not moving a muscle and not displaying any apparent desire to do so. He sighed and glared back at John.

"Why are you still here?" he asked.

"Because," the blue-eyed man began, "I get it, you have writer's block."

"I do  _not_  have writer's block!" Karkat snapped angrily. "I don't  _get_  writer's block. I have amazing fucking ideas and I write them down just like that and it  _works._  That's why I don't even have a proper editor, because I don't  _need_  one." John's grin fell a bit, but he then started nuzzling into Karkat's neck.

"'Course you don't, because  _I_  always read it before you send it in," he chuckled. "It's okay, Karkat, every awesome author gets it sometimes. No one can keep a pace of over 6,000 words a day up."

"Well,  _I_ can!" Karkat said indignantly. "I can fucking do that! It's something that I'm proud of, too, and now, suddenly I find that I am an utter shitbag at even the one thing that I thought I was good at. Do you know how that feels, John!? I'll tell you. It feels like I want to murder myself."

"Don't say that," said John with a serious tone, lifting his face from the man's neck and staring at him sideways. "Never say that. Please." Karkat rolled his eyes, but nonetheless raised a gentle hand to John's cheek and rubbed it with his thumb.

"Fine, I won't," he muttered. "But what I say stands. I do not get writer's block. It just doesn't fucking happen."

"Then write," John challenged. "If you're too good for that. Which I know you are." He winked at Karkat teasingly. 

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Being so goddamn cute. It's distracting."

"Oh?" John narrowed his eyes and smiled mischievously. "How's that?"

"It makes me want to press your squishy face against mine to engage in the most glorious sloppy makeout session that would last for years on end, and even though that sounds pretty fucking inviting right now, I'm  _writing._ "

"No, you're not."

"I  _would_ be, if you, the moronic imbecile, would leave me alone!"

"Not gonna happen, Kitkat," John said playfully. He nudged the author's chin with his nose, tickling his skin. "Tell me why you can't write. Other than the fact that my overwhelming attractiveness is romantically distracting you."

"Nice sarcasm," Karkat smirked.

"I wasn't being sarcastic."

"Too fucking bad, then." Karkat paused, sighing from time to time. "I feel like vomiting up whatever contents are in my stomach all over the fucking computer would be a more effective method as to write this shit. In fact, it would probably produce a superior product."

"Mmhmm," John mumbled as he listened.

"The sentences are choppy and repetitive, the wording is all wrong, a morbidly obese amateur runner has a better sense of pacing, and it's. Just. Not fucking  _flowing._  At  _all._ "

"Mm."

"And I know what I want to fucking write, a crystal clear vision, but I have no goddamn clue  _how to get it from my mind and onto the page._ "

"You just can't find words for it?" John asked.

"…Yeah." The blue-eyed man nodded as he snaked his arms around Karkat's waist and sat on the arm of the chair. "Jesus fuck, you idiot, you're going to break the chair!" John nodded again, this time with a playful smile, and he shifted his whole weight into Karkat's lap. "Okay, this is not what I ever wanted."

"Liar," John whispered, putting his head on Karkat's shoulder. The author instinctively started rubbing a hand over his back. "Maybe I could help."

"You  _can't_  help. At all," Karkat grumbled. 

"What's the part you want to write about, then? Can I at least know?" Karkat suddenly blushed, and he jerked his head away from John's gaze. "What, is it something dirty?"

"No, you douchemuffin!" he retorted.

"Hehe, that's actually sort of a half pet name."

"You're insane. Either way, it's not that. Quite the opposite. I would explain it, but you, being a dolt, screwed it up by making doltish assumptions."

"Aw, come on!" John whined as he cupped a hand around Karkat's jaw and moved it towards him. "Tell meee." Karkat pouted, with his eyebrows furrowed. But not three seconds after locking eyes with the man on his lap, he let out a semi-annoyed groan.

"Fine. It's…." He hesitated. "It's… a part with a whole shitton of tension. Romantic tension. The main protagonist is fully aware of his feelings for the second protagonist, but is stifling them in fear of rejection. However, the second protagonist is a complete dumbfuck and doesn't realize how much he's subconsciously flirting with the main, and how he's completely in love with him, but hasn't even admitted it to himself." He scowled. "And I know exactly what I want these fucking characters to do but then they go and do their own thing, by themselves, screwing over everything I had in mind. Lousy goddamn stupid characters and their fucking so-called free will."

"I still love how you're writing a romance centered around the soon-to-be gay couple," John said sweetly. He planted a light kiss on Karkat's cheek. "Reminds me of us." Karkat smirked back at the blue-eyed man.

"Where the fuck did you get the idea I would ever write about something remotely relating to you? It's not like I'm living with you, nor that I'm hopelessly and shamefully in love with you. You might as well just slap a sign on my back that says 'Shove your foot up my ass, I'm in love with the biggest dunderfuck on the planet.'" John chuckled again, planting more kisses on his cheeks, eyelids, forehead, nose, neck. "My lips are here, shitface." He pointed, and instantly John leaned in and pressed his lips against Karkat's in a saccharine kiss. 

 

"Well, how about this?" John began after he broke away. "I'll stick around. Give you all this loving and support, because I have so much of it to go around." He grinned. "You just write, and not care about some dumb deadline or if it's good or not. You're a rad writer. Your audience can wait." Karkat raised an eyebrow, but then resigned to a rare smile.

"Fine. I'll do my very fucking best," he said, "but I'll only be able to type with one hand."

"Hm?" John inquired, raising an eyebrow as well in curiosity. "And why's that?"

"I think you'll be able to find out, even if you're a blithering fool," Karkat said softly, as he wrapped a hand around the back of John's neck and pulled him into another warm kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> When I have writer's block, Karkat does too.


End file.
